


i am made of memories

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And this works as gen too, Based on a post from tumblr, Blood, Cyborg Keith, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, PSTD, Post Season 2, What if Keith was the one who went missing, implied hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: Perhaps, like it has been declared long ago, Patroclus isn't supposed to wear the armour of Achilles into war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post by @kittypox on tumblr because it's so good and I love it

This is the story of a man who's been snatched away from his prime of inspiring the hopeless from spiraling into the voids of damnation, showing them that even if the looming threat of one's fear comes nearer at every hitching breath, the unshakeable trust in oneself to overcome it will be stronger.

This is the story of a man who has seen how the canines of his enemies sinks into the flesh of his arm, where they feast upon the scream that drags out of his throat with all the lavishness of a last meal. He has seen the way how their last wish is to goad him into doing something he has no desire of doing again, to force him to drive the thick tip of his sword into that mustard eye out of pure desperation in hopes of ripping them out from his being.

His arm follows with.

The hum of false concern whispers into his ear as the cloaked beings holds him into one place; cold, flat metal digging into his spine as they replace his missing limb with a weapon that will win him success over and over until he earns the title of power, of where more people will adore the Empire's beloved rabid dog.

Their claws of enthusiasm buries deeper into him with every bellow of the arena, their feet stomping for more blood to be spilled with his own hand, under his own command.

He is committing their sins, and detachment prevents him from drowning in his own choked fear.

The blows his body suffers from is the only embodiment of penance he wholeheartedly accepts for his time in that unholy room -it makes an equilibrium take place as he levels his kills with his suffer, and he swallows down the manic laughter that threatens to burst past his lips at the memory of younger Matt rambling under his breath for an exam.

This is the story of a man who will not let others suffer what he's gone through; they will not know the feeling of relief when heavier bodies dropped to the ground, they will not know the aura of those blood thirsty demons in the confinements of the arena nor will they know the things he does as he vows to go home in order to warn others about the horrors in the vastness that stretches around them.

Takashi Shirogane swears it all in the innocent lives that were lost in the arena.

And yet, his eyes are glued to the way He dodges the spiked tail of a monster with an agility that has been mutated from His own, indigo eyes flashing with the will to not die under the name of the same kin He shares blood with.

Perhaps, like it has been declared long ago, Patroclus isn't supposed to wear the armour of Achilles into war.

Glowing purple fingers wraps themselves around the neck of a snapping creature while He swipes His sword across the body of the other two coming His way, where He doesn't look the slightest bit disturbed at the screech beside His ear as Shiro sees the way smoke curls up from scorched flesh. He tosses the carcass into another vaulting into His face, just a hair away from clamping its jaws around His neck before both bodies are flung at the other side of the arena.

He dodges another wave released towards Him, His new legs gives Him leverage of being faster than He ever has. It takes full concentration to know where He would strike, and that looking away for a second would cost anyone the full play of His survival.

Shiro can hear the hum of His arm being activated when He runs it through the guts of those creatures, killing them instantly.

He wears the same garb Shiro is forced to wear before, but it reveals more of the technology the druids installed in His body, painfully new and improved, and it makes His audience roar with excitement.

_Champion._

_Champion._

_Champion._

This isn't what Shiro meant when he doesn't want the weight of that name on his shoulders anymore.

“They changed him,” The tremor in Hunk's voice reflects what Shiro feels, and like the rest of them, he's rooted in front of the screen after Pidge let's them _see._  “They're _using_ him.”

All of them flinched when one of the monsters latches into the meat of Keith's shoulder, but he doesn't even make a sound when he wrenches it off with a grip of its nape -his blood taints his tunic, the clench of his jaw noticeable as he bears with the obvious pain.

“We have to get him,” Lance says quietly, not able to look away as well. “We found him, we know where he is. We _have_ to get him.”

It takes Keith at least five minutes before the last of the bodies are sprawled around him, the air undoubtedly heavy with their stench as his chest heaves from where he's standing in the middle of the clearing, hair matted to his forehead when he lifts his head to stare at the Paladins standing before him.

They hold their breath, as if Keith knows they've been watching him from the lens of the floating droid, his expression carefully blank as he ignores the way the audience has taken the initiative of rising from their seats to cheer for his glory. It's hard to know what he thinks as he continues to simply aim his gaze at the camera with that empty look, before his attention snaps towards the mouth of the opening gates.

His face hardens, and Keith slowly makes his way towards it with a grace of a panther, the muscles of his back shifting with a roll of his shoulders as he manages to easily avoid the littered ground.

Then, the gates shut close with a thud loud enough to be heard over the still screaming admirers.

It takes Shiro a moment to realise that the screens goes black as well, and Pidge draws back a shaky hand to rearrange her glasses. “That,” she begins softly. “was yesterday.”

Allura remains rigid beside her, lips pursed as she continues to stare at the empty screen. “And there's more?”

“Twenty-two videos in total,” Pidge answers just as quietly, slumping on the couch with a hand over her eyes. “Someone from the last battleship we fought was a fan, and kept all of his footage.”

“Twenty-two.” Hunk echoes duly, fingers slotted tightly against one another. “That's like, what, eleven per month? Thrice a week?”

“Twice, at least,” Coran says, and Shiro can't help but notice how he’s using the wall to rest all of his weight against it instead of standing properly like he did in the beginning, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes more prominent than before. “If they were merciful.”

Two months, that's how long it went on.

Two months of trying to look for their friend, of feeling heavy guilt and sleepless nights.

“Obviously not,” Lance drags a hand down the side of his face. “I can't believe it took them a short time to make him like this.”

 _This_ being Keith's new limbs, _this_ being able to move with inhuman speed without breaking a sweat.

At this point, Shiro doesn't know what to believe.

“He has a lot of sponsors,” Shiro speaks up for the first time since Hunk announced what they found. He ignores the sharp looks from his teammates. “Because he's the Red Paladin. People are betting for him to win, to keep him busy and make their money worthwhile no matter the consequences. His arms and legs are proof of that.”

Allura stares at him disbelief. “Are you saying they’re from the pockets of those sniveling monsters?”

He holds up his hand as emphasis, metal gleaming under the castle lights. “There was a possibility that he almost died, or managed to for a while. But, seeing how expensive he is by the amount of fans he gained, they wanted him to live, to continue fighting until they've run out of possibilities or excuses to make him stay alive.”

Pidge let's out a bark of incredulous laughter. “They can call back the dead?”

“With all the right sources?” He shrugs, dropping his hand. “Why not?”

“They've done it before?” Hunk acquires, a touch of fear in his tone at the implications Shiro's question caused.

“My heart stopped for an hour before they decided it would be a waste for me to just be dead,” Shiro notices how blood drains from their faces. “They decided playing god was the best bet, since I've been earning them bonuses to recover some of the lost when they went planet conquering. To them, it’s the best part of the entertainment and they’re glad they didn't get rid of me.”

“And knowing Keith,” he let's out a huff of dry amusement. “He's not going to surrender to their demands so easily.”

Shiro wouldn't be surprised if the Galra decides to use this advantage to make him suffer more.

“When's his next match?” Hunk asks wearily, rubbing a thumb in between his brows.

“In another three days.” Pidge replies, eyes glued to the screen of her laptop as she begins to distract herself.

“If we want to attack, it has to be done before the day rolls in,” Shiro begins, elbows perched on his knees. “Because they know who he is, and they know we'll come to get him the moment we found out. It doesn't help that the security on that base would be tighter than the last time I was there; more guards and sentries. Since Keith would be the only prisoner there, we have to be careful and make sure we're not seen when we get him out.”

“And if we were?” It's Lance who asked, the circles under his eyes dark from the lack of rest.

“We get out,” Shiro straightens his back, eyes sweeping over them. “All of us.”

 

* * *

 

The security that keeps Keith in is as tight as Slav's.

It's almost a wonder to see how careful the Galra has been in making sure they keep the Red Paladin out of existence, where the past two months have been baffling with questions on how he disappeared without a trace.

It's pure luck, Shiro thinks, that they bumped into the battleship, and Allura’s quick thinking stopped them from destroying it entirely the moment it went out of commission.

Those who controlled it are only that one commander and a few Galran guards, while most of its occupants are the sentries they managed to eliminate.

“They might know something,” Allura points out. “We can't be sure, but it's worth a try.”

And she's right.

The base, as Shiro remembered, is big enough for numerous types of creatures alike to see the fights between the Champion and whatever monster they bought into the arena to watch the way it unfolds in front of them. From what he knows, this place is only for those who earned the title of ‘Champion’, where they are taken to this particular base as a special treatment, to isolate them from the other slaves. 

Shiro lasts there for only a week before Ulaz helps him escape, and though his memories about it isn't exactly _there_ due to his short stay and memory lost, he knows it has been _lonely._

He can't imagine how Keith feels when he's been there longer.

Taking down the security of the base has been easy enough, similar to when they managed to get Slav out as they’ve been quick and efficient, avoiding the sentries and guards alike as the paladins make their way down the hallways of the place.

The door is sealed tight when they arrived, where it takes them a code and Galra-tech recognition for them to let the door slide up, and Shiro feels his chest clench at the sight of him in his cell.

Keith has his back against the wall, legs crossed easily against one another as his head tilts towards the magenta lights of his cell, spilling against his skin that the scars he has on his face gleams pink and silver.

His fingers, all of them so achingly similar to Shiro's, lay pliant on his lap.

Shiro tries to convince himself that the peaceful expression Keith dons is only a mask to prevent Galra from doing anything else to him, that it's not because Shiro's being proved wrong of what he believes in him.

Glancing back, he sees the way the other three of his teammates looks stunned at the sight of Keith like this, a rare look even when he's been at the castle.

The opened doors doesn't even seemed to phase him the slightest bit, as if he thinks they're the Galran guards that come to take him away from his cell.

Shiro tentatively takes a step forward.

And that causes Keith to snap his eyes open.

He takes one look on them, and stills considerably.

Shiro doesn't dare move a muscle. “Keith?”

Keith drags his eyes over the rest of them, letting them linger on the hopeful expressions they wear, warily scrutinising them before staring at Shiro again.

Then, his lips pulls back into a sneer.

“Get out.” Keith croaks out, startling them all as his fingers curls into fists. “I don't need this right now.”

Shiro feels the air stilling around him.

“Keith,” he tries again slowly, alarmed and afraid for him, and takes another step forward. “It's us.”

Shiro stops when Keith only answers by activating his hands.

“I said, _get out,_ ” he snarls, the purple glow illuminating against the angry lines of his face, the hum of the machine crowds the space between them; threatening, unapologetic, absolutely dangerous. “I can't have you here if you're just going to ruin _everything_ in the end.”

“Ruin what?” Lance questions boldly, taking his place beside Shiro. “What are you trying to do?”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Keith hisses with a violent shake of his head, as if he's trying to get rid of the ring in his ears. “You're just going to trick me again.”

Shiro feels the way his heart drop at the realisation of Keith's cracked sentence.

Visions. Keith has visions of them before.

“Keith,” Shiro takes another step forward, and Keith glares at him. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

Unfortunately, reason can't be seen when Keith is already jerking towards them with a swing of his fist.

Shiro manages to catch it in his right hand until he's skidding to the back from the force, clenching his jaw against the pressure Keith puts into his attack. Shiro shakes his head when Pidge activates her bayard, wanting to protect Shiro and yet not daring to attack in regards on hurting Keith. “Let me handle this.”

Keith tries to attack his exposed abdomen with a swipe of his other hand, but Shiro only dodges just in time before taking hold of his elbow to prevent it from happening again.

Keith stares at their connected hands that glows brighter after Shiro lights it up as well, surprise and confusion flitting past his features. “You didn't disappear.”

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

“When I attacked you, you didn't disappear,” Keith snaps up to meet his gaze, eyes wide and desperate as they dart around his face as if really seeing him for the first time, as if he's realising what's really happening at the moment and who is exactly in front of him. “You were _supposed_ to disappear, to leave me the moment I got near you.”

Then, he looks over where Lance, Hunk, and Pidge stares back at him.

It's painful to see him like this, to see how Shiro is able to relate to such torture.

His vows of protecting them against harm, he realises, are not enough.

Not when Keith has all but abruptly let go of his defences with a tired moan of defeat, clutching onto the front of Shiro's armour as he digs his forehead onto the middle of his chest.

Because there would always be times where Shiro will be hopeless to stop what he works hard on from happening to anyone else.

With a shuddering breath, Shiro let's his arms fall around the shaking body in his embrace, legs collapsing upon their own as they hold tightly on each other against the cold floor of the cell.

“Thought you weren’t real, part of my own damn head. I couldn't-” Keith cuts himself off with a choked laugh, shaking his head almost in denial while Shiro only buries the lower part of his face into Keith's shoulder, disregarding the sweat soaked tunic. “I'm sorry-”

“We're here,” Shiro says firmly, fingers tangled in his greasy hair. “I'm here.”

“Fight with me,” Keith begs, pulling himself away to dig his nails into his shoulders, desperation swirling in his eyes. “We have to go, I planted a bomb in the arena, it's supposed to go off by now. We have to-”

Right on cue, there's a blow somewhere in the east wing, causing the room to rattle alarmingly.

Then, the shrill blare of the alarm bounced off the walls of the empty hallway.

“I think that's our cue,” Lance says wryly, materialising his bayard. He looks at them apologetically. “Sorry to cut this short, but we have to go.”

Shiro grips onto Keith's arm. “I'll be with you.”

Keith only gives him a curl of his lips, before he slaps his palm into Shiro's to bring him into one brief hug.

But, even though it's a short moment, Shiro relishes on having Keith back, on having him standing with them again.

Their hands remained as one until they have to defend each other.


End file.
